While listening to the dialogue of a movie a man mused: “Who writes this tripe,”
which was followed by: “The same source of that comment,
(which pitiful to say, I’m supposed to assume was me).”
Fact: When you don’t know what’s going on – you really don’t know much of anything.
 
 
 

The water that naturally flows through your pipes will not make your plumbing grow;
it is sufficient to keep it minimally alive, but that’s all  –
and is that all you want of your plumbing?
 
 
 

Mused one chap: “Had my mind enacted a more stringent immigration policy,
and more actively enforced protection of my borders,
I would not be in the condition we find me today.”
 
 
 

Maxims Of The Few.
If you want to be admired  –  you don’t deserve to be.
 
 
 

An email just in:
”My brother, who'e been reading your daily web writings for several years,
has just pointed out to me a most unusual and consistent feature thereof;
has anyone else ever noticed it?
Sincerely,” etc.
 
 
 

If what is said be true, that a man’s “natural manner suits him best” –
why do people seem so commonly ill clothed?
    (“I believe it goes back to one of your previous questions-cum-comments:
       ‘How is it possible [as is frequently asserted] for a person to not be their self?’”)
 
 
 

How Mind Works.
A man who had never been sick, who came down with a potentially fatal illness, became of the belief that if he got on friendly, intimate terms with his medical providers, this would somehow improve his chances of survival.
    (“Is that like how knowing the time-keeper in a race will keep you from tripping
       when you run?”)
Mind (via words) can not only work-miracles, but can also restrain itself from peeking behind the oz’s miracle-working curtain.
    (“Well sir: an operation that can’t fool itself is hardly going to be capable of
       flummoxing anyone else, now is it.”)
 
 
 

One possible indication of progress is if you no longer care if people
mispronounce your name (or even get it wrong               certainly not enough to correct them).
 
 
 

Politeness is certainly a sign of something or the other;
as displayed by the ordinary, a signal of something quite mechanical and without personal significance;
only a man who-knows-what's-going-on is actually polite to others based on his
willful intention (bred of understanding) to be so.
 
 
 

In the life lived by normal men: only the dead are never wrong  –
a fact that should be of practical interest to people, wouldn’t you think  –
but is rather, one never mentioned in human conversation.
 
 
 

A committee (let us say of twelve) may discover some “great truth” --
if eleven of them are out of town.
The reason collective humanity came up with the adage:
“It’s every man for himself,” was to divert men’s attention from
what they perceive to be the reality of the fact,
when they are momentarily feeling alone and disheartened,
and to sardonically deny it when they are feeling safe and convivial.
Only he who has cracked-the-case knows whether he is solo or not,
(in that area most important to him).
 
 
 

Memory & Maximum Consumer Protection For The Few.
That which is beyond repair must be beyond recall.
 
 
 

If you gauge your integrity by other men’s awareness thereof  --  you have none.
 
 
 

One man says that above everything else he wants to be on the same page.
 
 
 

An email just in:
“Has the figure you once proposed of there being only .00001%  of the world’s population ever being practically involved in trying to change their state of consciousness, changed?”
 
 
 

Some times people are more impressed with their self than with other people,
and some times they are more impressed by other people than with their self;
only the man who-knows-what's-going-on is impressed with no one.
 
 
 

Nothing is true from every point of view  –  but then again:
from some point of view, everything is true.
 
 
 

Things Mind Won't Normally Take Into Account.
One man says: “What I like about Sunday is that I can lay on the couch all day
in my underwear and do nothing but watch tv,” but no one ever asks Sunday
what it likes about such a man.
 
 
 

Speech may be the supreme gift to man,
but few are those who ever get past the wrapping.
 
 
 

After reading and hearing about it for years, one man finally decided that he too had a mental-block  --   “My mind.”
 
 
 

Being Entertained In The City.
It is often hard to find anything interesting  –  unless you brought it with you.
 
 
 

A man who does not find an entirely innate morality within him –  has none;
morality which men believe they must learn from external sources is not the real deal but rather impersonally strewn stratagems to prop up collective civil behavior.
Even minus the word, “right”  –  the certain-man, relying on nothing outside his self, always knows what is right.
(And also as always concerns the extraordinary, CertainThing:
You either do or you don’t  –  and no amount of talk will change the situation.)
 
 
 

In the city it is often hard to find advice  –  unless you’re lucky.
 
 
 

Only those words and deeds which are necessary are just.        (Not to mention satisfying.)
 
 
 

Justifying an act is compounding-a-felony and excusing a word is poison
twice swallowed.
 
 
 

Anger toward a foolishness which others take as fact is proof of its efficacy
(and may we assume that by now you understand this may not require the presence of more than one person).
 
 
 

Living by the advice of other fools is one way to pay double for everything,
(especially the stuff that’s not actually essential).
 
 
 

If one of men’s current ideas is correct: that everything moves from a state of order
to one of chaos, why is it not suspected that what their consciousness has labeled chaos might be the natural order of things.
When three forces are behind an activity, looking at it from the perspective of just
one of the forces always conveys the impression that at least two-thirds of what is going on is disorganized and under no one’s control.
(And may we assume that you understand this may not require the presence of both a person
and an event occurring outside of them.)
 
 
 

No matter how carefully anger is aimed at another,
the result for the rebel is always a bullet-to-the-foot.
 
 
 

What does ordinary consciousness more firmly embrace than that which it
understands least.
    (“Ain’t Life a bitch!”
“I might have said: A hoot.”
     “That’s what I meant.”)
 
 
 

If the description be true that a great-orator is one who can even convince his self  –  then what accolades are due the voice you naturally hear in your head?